Hear Me
by AelysAlthea
Summary: Scorpius has one goal for his first day at Hogwarts: to befriend a Potter. But how does one do so for a Potter so deliberately avoiding being befriended?


**Summary** : Scorpius has one goal for his first day at Hogwarts: to befriend a Potter. But how does one do so for a Potter so deliberately avoiding being befriended?

 **Rating** : T

 **Tags** : Next Generation, First Year, Budding Friendships, Rejection, A Moment Of Dawning Understanding

* * *

~Written for The House Competition~

 **House** : Ravenclaw

 **Category** : Themed

 **Prompt** : Acceptance

 **Word Count** : ~4600

* * *

 **~Hear Me~**

"Should you get the chance, befriend a Potter. They may seem arrogant or ignorant, even worthy of disregard, but…"

His father never finished those words. It was one of the first times Scorpius had ever heard him leave a statement hanging. Maybe he hadn't the words at all. Maybe even he didn't know what came after the 'but'.

Or maybe the truth of the situation and the possibility of 'a friendship with a Potter' was too great to encompass in mere words.

Scorpius didn't know and he'd never asked his father for clarification. Had Draco Malfoy wanted something known, he would have made it so. Draco Malfoy didn't leave room for misunderstandings and oversights – it was something Scorpius' mother had told him he'd grown into, but a commitment he clung to like a lifeline – whatever that meant. Whatever significance that held.

At Kings Cross Station, those words rung in Scorpius' mind. Flat but determined, they echoed more loudly even than the shouts of children that rebounded throughout the platform, the cries of parents as they waved those children farewell. Even louder still when, in the midst of the mayhem, Scorpius paused with his hand resting atop his trunk.

"Be well, my son," his mother said, as quiet and restrained as she always was in public.

Scorpius glanced over his shoulder towards her. To some, Astoria Malfoy was an ice statue. Resplendent and refined as ever in her high-necked robes, she seemed nothing if not coldly incapable of expressing any greater emotion than the twitch of an eyebrow or the slight tightening of lips. Scorpius knew better. He knew better because everyone in his family – his mother, his father, definitely his grandparents – all bore the same restraint. To witness more than that shallow coldness, one had to look beyond. To peer deeper. To see more than what was superficially revealed.

His mother was on the verge of tears, much as she'd been for weeks approaching his departure for school. Likely no one else on the platform could discern as much, but to Scorpius who knew her – and in many ways emulated her expressionless façade – he could tell otherwise.

He tipped his head in an acknowledging nod. _He_ wasn't borderline tearful, even if the prospect of beginning school was veritably terrifying. He'd barely stayed more than a night anywhere besides his parents' or grandparents' houses in his entire life.

But this was an opportunity. A chance. An _excitement_. Scorpius chose to focus upon that bechanced excitement instead of the upwelling of nervousness that wrought havoc upon his nerves at every opportunity. "I will, Mother," he said, and his voice didn't waver. He made sure it didn't.

His mother kissed him on the cheek. Amidst the mulling crowds of students and parents, the barest peck, a breath of warmth upon his cheek that was almost a gasp, was all she allowed. They had an image to maintain, after all. Then she straightened, drawing away from him, and the icy mask resettled even more firmly.

The hand on Scorpius' shoulder remained a little longer, however. He followed the length of his father's arm to his gaze, and his father's eyes, the slight squeeze of his fingers upon the junction of his neck, bespoke more than any words could.

Draco Malfoy didn't speak. Much of the time, he didn't need to. Scorpius' mother told him that his father had once been more than outspoken, almost excessive in his verbosity, but apparently that had changed. Scorpius' father stared at him and there was so much in his steady gaze that had already been spoken.

Promises for school.

For the future.

About the Potters, and the unspoken duty that was less of a duty and more of a desperate need.

And the words he'd spoken aloud only the once but that had resounded silently so many times since. _To be a Malfoy is a challenge only the strong-willed can surpass. A war against rejection, against denial and a history we may never be rid of. It is the responsibility of every Malfoy, now and forever, to erase the smear upon our name._

Scorpius' father said that and more in his silent stare, and Scorpius heard it. In the midst of clamour and raucous excitement, farewells and at times sobbing exchanges from young children and regretful, his father was a silent pillar beside the ice statue of his mother.

Scorpius head his unspoken words, felt the squeeze of his fingers. Then he nodded and turned away. With a grazing gaze around the platform before, with a deciding step, Scorpius left his parents behind him.

The Second Wizarding War had passed long ago. The world had mended. And yet Malfoy knew – he _knew_ – the Malfoy name still carried a certain weight upon its steadfast and unyielding shoulders. Scorpius had known his entire life that it was his duty to attempt to alleviate that weight.

Maybe he wouldn't concern himself with thoughts of what if's and fears of the future. His grandmother often said such wasn't the role of 'a child'. But even without the responsibility of being a Malfoy weighing upon his shoulders, the line of duties was long. Being _Scorpius_ was a duty in itself, and one entirely enforced by himself. He had a schooling system to overwhelm. He had a cohort of fellow students to trounce, a name to buffer to the gleaming silver it had once worn. He had –

He had a Potter to befriend.

Weaving through the clusters of families, Scorpius made his way along the platform in the direction of the train. He could feel the weight of his parents' gazes upon his back, but he didn't turn. Not once. Thick smoke puffed into the air, acrid and heady, but Scorpius was above wrinkling his nose. He kept his chin raised and scanned around himself, using what his mother deemed his 'impressive height for an eleven year old' to his best advantage. There was the face of the youngest Bones child; he recognised it from the papers. A little further away and the Keeper for Puddlemere, hands clasped on her daughters shoulders. A Patil, an Einheart, a Parkinson recognisable only because Scorpius' had been forced to attend the family gathering of his father's closest childhood friend.

Scorpius barely spared them all a glance, offering the faintest inclination of his head when he met the eyes of the third year Parkinson boy. He was irrelevant after all. He wasn't a Potter.

Halfway along the platform was when Scorpius saw him. Or more correctly, he saw _them_. He saw the vibrantly redheaded Weasleys alongside the Potters, the Potter boy who was in his own year wriggling from his mother's embrace before starting after a redheaded Weasley girl already making for the train. Scorpius paused in step. For a heartbeat, he took it in – the Muggle clothes, the snowy owl that was a trademark of the Potter family, the mop of messy dark hair. Then he was striding forwards, diving into the thickening mass of crowd as close to running as decorum would allow.

People got in the way. There were always _so many people_ upon station platforms, and Scorpius found he abruptly had a problem with that. Scorpius had a mission. Why couldn't the world just cooperate for once?

At a handful of steps away from the train, Albus stopped. As though hitting a wall, he abruptly stopped and, as though only just recalling himself, turned towards his trunk. Scorpius couldn't see what he was doing but the disappearance of his head into his suddenly opened trunk-top was nothing if not helpful.

All but skidding to a stop himself a handful of paces away – and shooting a glare to the witch that nearly bowled him over – Scorpius straightened. He lifted his chin higher. A hand ran absently down the front of his robes, pressing the already immaculate lapels into further perfection. A good first impression was the best kind, his mother always said, and Scorpius intended for just that.

Clearing his throat, and rather loudly to be heard over the din of the platform, he spoke. "Hello, Albus Potter. My name is Scorpius Malfoy. We shall be in the same classes, as I'm sure you're aware." A pause, and then, "It's a pleasure to meet you, and I hope we can be friends."

Then he waited.

Albus didn't pull his head from the trunk. He didn't even seem to have heard Scorpius, with no reaction apparent. Scorpius cleared his throat again and reattempted more loudly. " _Hello_ , my name is Scorpius Malfoy and I'm –"

Albus straightened. Something followed him out of his trunk – a bundle that bore the distinctive stamp of Ollivander's Wand Shop upon it that was stuffed immediately into the back of his trousers. Then, spinning without a glance in Scorpius' direction, Albus grabbed his trunk, hitched his owl's cage higher, and heaved himself towards the train once more. Not a glance over his shoulder was spared for Scorpius, nor a pause for acknowledgement.

Scorpius stared after him. He blinked, could feel his mouth flop open, and made an effort to close it. That was… rude. Very rude, to so ignore someone when they'd made the effort to introduce themselves. It was as though Albus hadn't heard him at all.

He hoped that was it. Scorpius hoped that Albus simply hadn't heard him and that was the reason for his disregard. That possibility was far easier to swallow than the one that suspected Albus maybe hadn't wanted to hear him at all.

Clearing his throat again, if a little less theatrically this time, Scorpius spared a moment to glance around himself for potential onlookers. It was a relief to see no one had seemingly noticed. Then, brushing his lapels once more, Scorpius started for train in Albus Potter's wake. Next time. He would try again next time.

* * *

"Excuse me, I was just wondering –"

Albus didn't pause as he climbed from the train onto the platform.

"I beg your pardon, but if you would just –"

Not a sidelong glance as Albus all but scrambled amidst the crowd of students towards what Scorpius could see as being the ageing half-giant gamekeeper Hagrid, beckoning to the horde of first years.

"Would you like to share a -?" he began to ask as they stood barely three steps from one another alongside the little boats bobbing on the lake. But Albus was already jumping into his own unsteadily rocking craft with arms spread wide for balance. Scorpius could only stare as Albus, Albus _Potter,_ didn't seem to even consider him or his words worthy of reply.

That time, Scorpius thought that Rose Weasley noticed. The fuzzy-haired girl, bright-eyed and supposedly intelligent if gossip from the grapevine held any credibility, glanced towards where Scorpius had planted himself at a respectful distance along the wharf. It wouldn't have done to step within Albus' personal space, and decorum – because Scorpius was always decorous – deemed such a distance be provided for appropriate introductions.

The Weasley girl blinked at him owlishly for a moment. She spared further second to flick her gaze between Scorpius and Albus, confusion visibly quirking her eyebrow. Then, in obvious disregard, she shrugged and climbed after her cousin into the only seat remaining on their boat.

The snooty cow.

And yet it wasn't Rose Weasley that concerned Scorpius. Far from it, he was rapidly coming to the realisation that Albus Potter might be a problem. His father had told him to befriend a Potter, and he would try his hardest, but as far as Scorpius could discern, Albus had been told much the same thing. Or at least much the same except in complete reverse.

Apparently not everyone wanted to make friends. Apparently Albus Potter wasn't inclined to even glance at Scorpius, let alone give him the time of day. Friendship? What kind of a friendship could become of that?

It stung. More than Scorpius would admit it stung, and he didn't… he didn't know what he was supposed to do.

Scorpius was distracted throughout the school entrance on his own rickety sea craft alongside a trio of negligibly important fellow students. The cavernous wonder of Hogwarts was dimmed in evening-shadowed splendour with Scorpius' focus pinned on the back of Albus' head. Albus himself was turned almost unshakeably towards Rose Weasley at his side, watching her intently. It was as though she was the only one who mattered, as though her words required Albus to not only listen but to stare at her fixedly. His own replies were an animated use of gestures as much as words, and Scorpius seethed for their joviality.

He hated that. He hated that merriment and disregard most of all. As they filed into the castle, fell silent before Deputy Headmaster Longbottom of the Unfortunate Surname, then followed him into the Great Hall, Scorpius realised he hated all of it. It wasn't fair. His father had instructed him in one regard, one roundabout and less than enforced but still required regard, and Albus wouldn't spare him a moment of attention to fulfil that instruction. _Unfair._

The Sorting Ceremony was a whirlwind. It would have been as wondrous as the school, a further splendour of sights and sounds and the new deemed remarkable even by those from magical families. The sky itself, a magical wonder of clouds and sparkling stars and enveloping night, drew gasps from the first years as they trotted into the Great Hall, all but ignorant of the mildly curious gazes of their fellow upperclassmen. They were justified in their wonder; it _was_ incredible.

But not for Scorpius. As each moment ticked by, each in which he ignored Annabel Flint's mutters in his ear when they spread in a clustered mass before the professors' head table, Scorpius stared at Albus. He barely noticed the four long tables around him dotted with their watching students, the beauty of the night sky overhead and the Great Hall itself. He was only half aware of the moment the Sorting really did start.

Arms folded, fighting down the rising despondency within him that Scorpius _wouldn't acknowledge_ , he glared at Albus and seethed in the unfairness of it all. It was infuriating that Albus was watching Longbottom with such rapturous intent. It made his previous dismissal of Scorpius only more profound, even more infuriating.

 _He doesn't even know me_ , Scorpius thought harshly, feeling his jaw tighten. _How can he brush me off so easily without even knowing me?_ Countless reminders of the tarnish to the Malfoy name, the patchiness of their stability in society, rose to the forefront of his mind. It rose, settled, and left a yawning pit of discomfort in its wake that wasn't alleviated or distracted when Longbottom began calling out names.

"Ravenclaw!" the hat shouted.

"Hufflepuff!"

"Slytherin!"

Scorpius didn't care. It wasn't as though it really mattered. He could barely attend to the scene even when he himself was sorted, although as the hat rested upon his head waxing a blatantly philosophical, "Distraction makes the mind blunt its sharpness" he was momentarily unnerved. Would his parents be infuriated should he be sorted in anywhere but Slytherin?

He needed have worried, even for the brief moment he was. "Slytherin!" the hat declared, and to the somewhat expectant applause of the Slytherin table. He descended the stairs, and with each step the relief was replaced by renewed disgruntlement. What did it matter what house he was sorted into if he couldn't fulfil anything with his placement?

Scorpius was wholly distracted – until Potter. Not until Albus Potter did his 'distraction sharpen. Potter's name was called and the boy – stupid, aloof, _mean_ boy – almost stumbled towards the little stool to fall beneath the upraised Sorting Hat.

There was a long pause. A long, long moment, and everyone stared. And then, "Slytherin!"

Scorpius felt his eyes widen. Not even decorum would entice him to remedy the fact. He stared because… because…

 _Slytherin?_

Silence spread through the crowd. Not a student at their table nor a first year waiting to be Sorted spoke; the tables could have been identical for the wholesome spread of disbelief. Even the professors from their presiding head table stared. No one moved. No one even seemed to breathe.

Scorpius felt his disgruntlement dribble from him as he stared in utter surprise. Surprise and incredulity and borderline horror because, _He's in Slytherin and I'm in Slytherin, and he already hates me and –_

Then it hit him. _And maybe that's why. Maybe he's innately Slytherin and cunning and knows how to play the House game already_. Scorpius swallowed. It would certainly explain Albus' dismissal of him. Scorpius felt himself shrink slightly into his seat at the Slytherin table; maybe his own dismissal that a Potter could _possibly_ be so devious had been an oversight of him. A drastic oversight.

Albus hadn't moved from his seat before the entire hall. He was immobile, blinking up at Longbottom from beneath the floppy, patched rim of the Sorting Hat. With slow hands, gaze darting momentarily to graze across the hall, he drew the Hat from his head. There was no surprise, though. No surprised so much as awkwardness as his gaze turned up to Longbottom once more.

Longbottom hadn't moved. Far paler than he had been, the deputy seemed rooted to the spot for a moment before visibly shaking himself into motion. When he leant towards Albus at his side to speak, his words were so low that he seemed to mouth more than verbalise, gesturing towards the Slytherin table as he did so. And Albus, gaze sliding between professor and table instead, slowly nodded before slipping from the stool and scampering towards the Slytherin table. A slow, dumbfounded smattering of applause met his arrival, and Scorpius could feel more than see the rest of the hall staring.

He wondered what the other Potter, James, would think. What Longbottom, a renowned friend of the Potter family, would think. He wondered what was ticking through the minds of every Slytherin as they turned wide eyes and raised eyebrows towards their newest addition, as incapable of hiding their surprise as Scorpius himself.

But mostly, as Scorpius stared and ignored the rest of the first years being Sorted, he wondered what it would mean for him. Given that, even only a handful of seats down from Scorpius, Albus didn't speak to him throughout the entire dinner, he could only fear that disaster for his expectations was unavoidably arising.

* * *

Scorpius decided he'd had enough.

That hadn't been _any_ discussion at dinner. None. Certainly, Albus hadn't appeared to speak to anyone besides Cory Mackenzie – first year – and Elizabeth Davis – another first year – who'd been seated on either side of him, but that didn't alleviate the slight. Albus hadn't spoken to _Scorpius_ , and therein lay the problem.

It didn't matter than Scorpius hadn't spoken to him first. Why should it always be him to attempt it?

Or at least that was what Scorpius thought at first. It was what he'd thought and what had stubbornly stilled any attempts at igniting a conversation between them at the house table. Things changed when they entered the dungeons, the common room, the dormitory. It changed because Albus appeared far too comfortable and happy with himself and it _wasn't_ fair. Scorpius had been nothing but unhappily discomforted since he'd been snubbed at Kings Cross.

The dormitory was a refined expanse of green and black and silver. Much as the common room had been, stone walls absented of the expected chill of their make, enclosed a spread of high, richly plump and curtain-draped four beds and aligned nightstands. It was an impressively simple room, but Scorpius hardly saw it but to note the placement of his own trunk.

Right there. Right beside Albus'. That stung more than Scorpius had expected it to.

Planting himself in the middle of the dormitory and entirely disregarding the attention he immediately garnered from the other two first year boys, Scorpius folded his arms across his chest. Chin raised, nose tipped high, he pinned the back of Albuss infuriately turned head with a stare.

"Albus Potter," he said sharply, and his voice _definitely_ didn't waver. "I don't know what your problem is with me, but I've had enough. _Enough_ , I say. You've been rudely ignoring my attempts at civilised conversation since our first chance encounter at Kings Cross, and I won't have it anymore. Such impoliteness is unbecoming of a Potter. Surely you know that."

And then Scorpius stopped. He waited. And he stared at the back of Albus' head as he remained bent over his trunk to extract first a pair of pyjama pants and then a shirt. Scorpius waited as Albus didn't even spare him a glance.

The longer he waited, the more furious Scorpius became. It was _wrong_. It was _horribly_ unfair. There was surely a limit to rudeness, even for a halfblood. Ignoring the staring of the other boys, the flush that rose in his cheeks as much from embarrassment as anger, Scorpius strode forwards and clamped a hand on Albus' shoulder. "You could at least do me the courtesy of –"

Albus jumped. Not just a flinch, he quite literally jumped to his feet. Spinning in place, he turned towards Scorpius and Scorpius… his anger didn't die, exactly, but it was certainly confounded.

Albus didn't appear angry with him. Not annoyed or dismissive or visibly aloof. He didn't even seem an idiot, as Scorpius had been half considering he might be for his attitude and distractedness. Instead, Albus was… startled? Then confused? Then, in quick succession, his expression folded into distinct sheepishness.

"Sorry," Albus said, his voice surprisingly quiet when Scorpius considered the previously-observed animated discussions he'd shared with his cousin. He raised a hand, made a fisted gesture at his chest that might have meant something but that Scorpius couldn't comprehend, and shrugged slightly. "Were you talking to me? I-I can't hear you."

"You couldn't hear me?" Scorpius' affront reared its head once more. He frowned severely, and he knew he was pouting just as his mother said he was want to do, but he didn't care. "And I assume you didn't hear me at Kings Cross, or on the train, or at the boats too, then?"

Albus' shoulders hunched slightly, sheepishness drawing a wince from him, an he shook his head. His hands made another series of gestures that was nothing if not a little ludicrous and distracting. Not that Scorpius couldn't ignore them, because he did. He would damn-well ignore such frivolity, because Albus was being –

"No. I didn't. Sorry, I – it was all just a little overwhelming, but I should have been paying more attention to… to everything." Albus paused, swallowed, and winced slightly again. "I'm deaf, see, so I couldn't… if you spoke to me when I didn't see you I…"

Then he trailed off. His quiet words filtered into silence as his hands stilled, but Scorpius hardly noticed. He couldn't. Not anymore.

A different kind of flush rose in his cheeks, warm and horrifyingly so. "You're deaf?"

"Mm."

"No you're not."

"I'm pretty sure I am," Albus said, and his wince faded into a smile. "Unless someone's been playing a really mean prank on me my whole life."

Scorpius stared and Albus stared back at him. He stared as Albus dropped his gaze to Scorpius' lips, then up to his eyes once more. Words bubbled forth before he could help himself, confused and astounded. "But you – you can understand –"

"If I'm watching you I can usually lip-read most things."

He was… he was _lipreading?_ What Scorpius had just said, he'd been… he'd just… "B-but I never heard that you're _deaf_. Surely I would have heard –"

"We've kept it quiet," Albus said, and he shrugged once more. "Mum and Dad didn't want anyone to make any hype over it. I wouldn't tell anyone if I didn't have to, I don't think, 'cause people kind of treat me differently 'cause of it, but seeing as we're going to be housemates, I figured you'd find out sooner or later?"

He said it like a question, blinking at Scorpius without a hint of malice or dismissal in his gaze. Then he glanced towards the other two boys watching the performance across the room. They both stared with eyebrows raised and mouths hanging open, and Scorpius couldn't think any less of them for it. He struggled to correct his own expression that had fallen into just the same slackness.

Then Albus was turning back to Scorpius again. Scorpius longed for nothing more than to melt into the floor rapidly in the riot of his embarrassment. He'd thought Albus had been ignoring him. He'd thought he was being cruel.

Albus wasn't wasn't. He really wasn't at all, and that reality set Scorpius' cheeks aflame all over again.

Swallowing thickly, hands dropping from their fold to his sides, Scorpius tucked his chin. "Sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't know."

Albus stuck a hand beneath his gaze, fluttering his fingers slightly until Scorpius raised his head once more. When he did, it was to see Albus smiling with nothing short of open friendliness. "Sorry," he said, and his hands twitched slightly in what Scorpius could only assume was some kind of sign language. "I can't really make out what you're saying if you do that."

 _Could I be making the situation any worse if I tried?_ Scorpius thought despairingly. "Sorry," he repeated. Then, just to be certain his apology was conveyed, "I'm really sorry I misunderstood."

Albus shrugged. Just like that, as though it didn't even matter, he shrugged, openly accepting of the apology and the slight and the – the _foolishness_ that Scorpius hadn't even realised he'd been enacting. Albus shrugged, and smiled, and then he offered a hand to Scorpius in a gesture that even he could understand. "No harm done. But seeing as we're going to be housemates for a while, how about we start off as friends. Hm?"

Scorpius stared at Albus' hand. It was offered directly, freely, almost too easily. He met Albus' gaze and there was nothing but openness and offering within them. Slowly, tentatively, Scorpius reached for his hand and grasped it in his own. His cheeks still felt flushed and he was still utterly _mortified,_ but he wouldn't turn down the offer. Not then.

"Friends," he said, and that was it. He grasped Albus' hand, and the feeling of fingers squeezing his own in return was like the dawning of a world of possibilities. Of chances. Of fulfilment that Scorpius had always sought.

This kind, though – Scorpius hadn't even considered just what it meant to make a friend of a Potter.

* * *

A/N: Thanks for reading! As of this moment, this is a oneshot. I don't know, should it be longer? Should I go on? Let me know with a review what you think and any thoughts on future progression!


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